A Tempest Of Sorts

Wind of the solitude,

Streamed for a breeze,

The calm bequeaths me,

As I envision the storm.

There lying before me,

A child yells for his mother,

As people huddle,

For they have lost their sole will.

It has struck fast,

A tempest of sorts,

Taking away our land,

And away our very brethren.

Breeze after breeze,

Hitting harder as time passes on,

Oh! please stop my Lord,

For we cannot move on.

Into the eye of the storm,

I hear wails on and on,

As I see people getting flung around,

Oh my! What is this state we are on?

Oh! Ravicious wind please smooth on,

Please forgive us if we have done wrong,

Leave for the far away,

As it is hard for us to leave all.

Trashing our ancestral land,

We cannot tread on,

Because connected are we with this fine land,

That has given us our own.

As time passed on,

And the dust swept by,

I then saw what was left behind,

Heaps of bodies mistaken as trash,

Thrown askew in despairs form.

Ah! This is not the dream I envision,

For in my sight and my vision,

I see a future of peace,

Not drugged with misery.

But alas! Man doth art know thy mistakes,

The path thy treaded on,

Briddled with mistakes and further storms,

Being unable to conquer all.

Try to unite as one,

Cultivate this harmonious symphony,

Be one with nature's form,

For then you would hear this heart's beat.

For then you would hear the nature's beat,

That has skipped through generations,

To be one with those destined,

With a green thumb and a beauty of a mind,

To be one with those destined,

To save what is left of a crumbling heart.

Grandpa

This is a simple hearted poem that I wrote when my grandfather passed away. This poem is one of the ones that inspired me to pursue poetry as a hobby and the heart's atonement.

Grandpa

I know that you are watching over me,
from stars up and about,
I know that you care for me,
For I feel your eternal love,
Grandpa why did you leave me,
Is it to go to your ancestral abode.

Our talks were needless of words,
For you knew me as a lad,
Toddling past your busy path.

Gramp's I don't know when I will meet you again,
Whether in this life's end or the next one,
Just know that I will always love you.

Impertinent Death

Lingering by the shadows,
Giving fear to all,
Making one fall,
Every day you come and go,
Taking life at a go.

To heaven or hell you decide,
No one knows where you reside,
Some say it is an eternal sleep,
While other's stay behind and weep.

An ominous surrounding around death's bed,
As men and women clad in black circumjacent,
No voice raised out loud,
As children and elders pray to the profound.

For each one know's not,
What lies beyond this curtain of life,
For each one wonder's,
About the death looming over one's head.

As the black sceptre encroaches,
Staying above one's shoulder's
By a thread that's ready to snap,
Alas without a moments word.

 The weeping one's stay behind,
With reminiscent thought's in their eyes,
For they have lost a person close to them,
A beloved father, mother or friend,
A relative that was close at hand.

Death a being of tragedy,
But hopeful prayers follow as a devotee,
To the one that passed away,
For a better life for their way.

Farmer's April

April is a month of heat waves in the equatorial countries and one's by it which makes life for the one's who truly feed us, our dear farmer's life miserable. I read time and again about farmers committing suicide because their crops fail them. Because they cannot sustain their own or their families life. Now let's make this post global to aware the authorities around the world the plight of the true breadwinners 'the farmers' and make them take an initiative to help them.

Farmers April

To what purpose April do you return again,
This month has always given me pain.
Standing there mocking me my crops fail,
It gives me sadness that I can only wail.

This desolate fortitude of land,
That has turned into a pile of sand,
Stares back at me in mirth,
As it turns into hopeless dearth.

Every day I toil around,
To see the land a bit more browned,
With my hopes up do I work again,
To turn around what is now a bane.

For this month of my sleeps terror,
Has led me back again further,
With death mocking me as my crops fail,
To what purpose April do you return again?